


bathroom

by idaate



Category: Deltarune (Video Game)
Genre: Depression, Emetophobia, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Mild Hurt/Comfort, POV Second Person, executive dysfunction mood babey, internet friendships, mostly a thought process through kris' mind, spoilers only for the opening scene of the game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 11:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16555112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idaate/pseuds/idaate
Summary: It’s not the first time you’ve hunched over the toilet, but it’s the first reallybadtime.





	bathroom

It’s not the first time you’ve hunched over the toilet, but it’s the first really  _ bad  _ time.

Dad’s already gone - it’ll be a year since the last big fight in April - but you still feel weird not having him be around. You loathe semantics and flowery words and cliches but there’s a big damn hole in your heart even though dinners go smoother. Mom wakes up earlier because she doesn’t need to wait for Dad to leave for work. It’s stupid and you don’t understand what went wrong until suddenly it was but at least it’s nice of her to do that.

But the reason you’re hunched over the toilet isn’t because you’re grieving over estranged parents (you’ve had enough time to grow apathetic to all that), but the fact that another friend has grown tired of you.

A seemingly sincere apology thinly veiling annoyance and relief, a lie of “I’m sorry to do this, but it’s for the better of us two, you know?”

_ No it fucking isn’t. _

_ You just don’t like me don’t try and make yourself feel any better. _

In the blur of it all last night’s dinner has already placed itself in the toilet basin without you being terribly conscious of it, and now all that’s left seems to be stomach acid. It burns your throat and your eyes on the way out and you cough pathetically, letting the unpleasant taste roll off your tongue.

You’re shaking and letting out the most disgusting little gasps and you want to scream but you’re not. 

Despite the way you’re reacting it hasn’t really. Sunk in yet. It hasn’t sunk in yet because you don’t have many friends, and of those many friends you don’t have any close ones - had, whatever - save for them, and it turns out that all they had to do was smile gently and tell you you didn’t mean a damn thing to them.

Paraphrasing, sure, but the meaning is the same.

The meaning has always been the same because you’ve had this process before, you’ve been loved and tossed aside all the same by people who live hundreds of miles and lives away. The same people you pour your heart out to, the same people who promised you that they were glad to have met you and their lives were enriched in some way, the same people who considered you a gnat or less and put you on their ‘Before You Follow’s because how dare someone get acquainted with you.

How  _ dare  _ you be alive.

You almost vomit again but there’s someone going through the hallway and you stop, hold your breath and the bile back, and wait for a few tense seconds. You can tell by the sleep-dragged footsteps it’s Mom, and sure enough, she stands outside the doorway before knocking twice.

“Kris?” she says, voice slurred and drowsy. “Are you going to be alright?”

It’s disgusting and painful but it’s just bile so you can swallow it back down your throat. “M-mm,” you murmur, wincing as your voice rasps. “Just woke up n’ had to go.”

“Ahh, alright,” says Mom, and her hand slides down the door before stopping again. “Just… I’m here if you need it, alright?”

“Alright,” you rasp again, and try to blink away the tears burning in your eyes.

Despite it all, you're so damn lonely.

 

-

 

You’re gonna be late to school if you don’t hurry up. You know this, but sometimes it’s hard to move. Sometimes it’s hard to pick up yourself even though there’s nothing physically holding you down, just a feeling - you like things staying the way they are, 

And besides, flushing the toilet over and over is fun.

Mom knocks the door, and you freeze.

“Kris..?” she says, stops, thinks before speaking again. You can tell she’s picking her words the same way Dad does his flowers for you and Asriel, carefully and afraid to mess up. “Is everything alright in there?”

“...mhmm.” You flush again. “We’re out of bath bombs, so nothing’s broken.”

That’s enough to make her laugh. “If there was another incident, the plumbing bill would be on  _ your  _ head,” she hums, even though the both of you know the odd crumpled up bill in your piggy bank isn’t going to be worth the pay. 


End file.
